


nor are we forgiven

by sirenic (noctiphany)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/sirenic
Summary: cc prompt: krisyeol bruises





	nor are we forgiven

“You’re hurt,” Yifan says, looking at Chanyeol over the top of his book when he walks in. 

“It’s nothing,” Chanyeol says, slipping his backpack off his shoulder and dropping it in the middle of the floor. “These assholes in the courtyard were --”

“Picking on somebody smaller than them,” Yifan sighs.

“There were  _ three _ of them,” Chanyeol glares. “I couldn’t just --”

“Jesus Christ,” Yifan swears as soon as Chanyeol turns and he sees the other side of his face, putting the book he was reading down and crossing the room, taking Chanyeol’s chin in between his fingers to survey the damage. “Three. Fuck. How did you even survive?”

“Campus security showed up,” Chanyeol says, hissing when Yifan’s thumb brushes the bruise on his cheek and bites his lip, a nervous habit, forgetting that it’s busted and hisses from that too.

“Sorry,” Yifan frowns. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

It’s become something of a ritual with them. Chanyeol leaves the dorm, Chanyeol gets the shit kicked out of him because he's too weak and too small and too fucking _good_ for this miserable planet, and Yifan patches him up when he gets back looking like he's gone ten rounds with a brick wall.

He cleans the wounds gently, tenderly, hyper-aware of every twitch in Chanyeol’s face that might tell him if he’s hurting him. There are a few scrapes on Chanyeol’s chin, probably where he hit the ground, a scratch on his cheek, likely from a frat boy’s signet ring, and his lip is busted. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but still, Yifan feels nothing but rage when he looks at it.

Chanyeol is too skinny and still hasn’t grown into his limbs and he’s so weak Yifan doesn’t know how he lifts his backpack most days, but he has enough heart for the entire world. Yifan knows, just like he knows the sun rises in the east and that neapolitan ice cream is an abomination, that this won’t be the last time Chanyeol comes back to their dorm bloody and bruised. No matter if it’s one guy or ten, Chanyeol will always, always stand up for what's right. He’ll always put his own body on the line for a stranger he doesn’t even _know_ and Yifan doesn’t think he’ll ever understand. But he wants to.

 

He wants to be like Chanyeol. He wants to be that selfless, that compassionate, that...good. He wants so much sometimes he feels like he's nothing but that, the wanting.  He doesn’t realize his thumb is pressed against Chanyeol’s bottom lip until Chanyeol’s mouth parts slightly and he feels a humid breath of air against his thumb. 

“Yeolie,” Yifan says, looking down at him, and his voice sounds strained, as if he were the one in pain. “You’re so…”

There are no words to accurately convey it, so instead, Yifan kisses him. He’s careful, gentle, just pressing his mouth to the side that wasn’t fucked up. That’s all he means to do, really. He just wants to kiss him, hopes that maybe the way he feels will translate better that way than with words, but then Chanyeol lets out of a breathy moan against his mouth and slips his tongue out and swipes them against Yifan's lips and Yifan’s gone, gone,  _gone._ He buries his hands in Chanyeol’s soft, messy hair, kissing him like he’s been waiting years and it opens up the cut on Chanyeol’s lip again, the tang of blood mingling with the taste of the cherry soda Chanyeol was drinking before.

_ You’re too good,  _ Yifan thinks as Chanyeol’s fingers curl around his neck to pull him closer.  _ Please, please don’t let me ruin you. _

But when everything stops and he pulls back, the smile Chanyeol gives him is soft and angelic, a sharp contrast to the blood smeared all over his mouth and the dark bruise on his cheek, and Yifan still doesn’t  _ understand _ .

But he wants to. And he thinks, maybe, that’s a good start.


End file.
